


The World Was At Our Fingertips (It Doesn't Get Better Than This)

by iliveinfantasies, Lysippe



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, AvaLance, F/F, Gen, Sara is actually a big nerd, ava x sara, coffee shop AU, lot, sara x ava
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: "The Waverider Cafe didn’t see a lot of new customers. Absolutely not before 7 a.m. And most definitely not the kind who were tall and blonde with legs that went on for actual days and wore poly-blend pantsuits.So Sara, the morning opener for the last three years, would have bet her paycheck that this woman was not among any of those demographics."A Legends of Tomorrow Coffee Shop AU!





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> So we have been threatening to co-author fanfiction since we met as authors both writing for The Hunger Games, and we finally, FINALLY are for Legends of Tomorrow. Yayyyy! Lysippe is rad, so check out her other work, too. And maybe some of mine, while you're at it?
> 
> We're hoping to update every few days with a new, derpy chapter of this disgustingly cute coffee shop AU. Thanks for reading, all! As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
> 
> Also, come visit both of us on Tumblr!
> 
> @iliveinfantasylife  
> @thebestdressedrebelinhistory

Sara didn’t know exactly what she’d expected when she first took the job at the Waverider Café. The place itself always seemed a little too edgy, just a little bit too modern, for the posh, pretty part of town in which it was located. While the café was technically right near a university, the couple of blocks where the actual building resided was populated largely by the sort of housewives that hired nannies for their children so that they could attend daily yoga class.

She didn’t know exactly what she’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been what she’d gotten.

Sara had been pushed through the hiring process quickly out of sheer necessity--one of the old “co-owners” of the co-op cafe had taken off, rather suddenly and without any notice, and the café had found itself desperately seeking help. And though Zari and Mick loved to laugh at her, give her grief for jumping aboard the ship, Sara knew that everyone who worked there more or less liked their jobs.

All of that said, anytime Sara found herself at the cafe on a Tuesday morning, counting down the drawer at the ungodly hour of 5:47 am, at the very beginning of what was bound to be another double because Mick had called off with what was he claimed was a migraine but was undoubtedly a hangover, she began to question her sanity just a little bit. She and Zari were both quiet and cranky, tired from another early morning, and possibly just a little too much booze the night before.

The bell on the front door chimed, a tiny, tinkly thing that fit the neighborhood aesthetic but made Sara want to throw serving knives at the wall.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her, and frowned. 5:50. They didn’t open until 6:00. Zari must have forgotten to lock the door when she came in earlier. She sighed, and looked over at Zari, who was setting up the pastry case.

“Forget to lock the door, Zar?”

Zari shrugged and grunted and continued shoving croissants into the glass case at increasingly odd angles. Sara shook her head. Zari was maybe _not_ the person she should have put in charge of the pastry case. She looked back down over as the customer was approaching her counter.

“Sorry,” she began, looking up. “We’re not open ye--”

She paused. Stared.

The Waverider Cafe didn’t see a lot of new customers. Absolutely not before 7 a.m. And most definitely not the kind who were tall and blonde with legs that went on for actual days and wore poly-blend pantsuits. Their morning clientele was an odd mish-mash of regular customers: the forty-year-old yoga mom with her running stroller; the slightly frazzled looking thirty-something, toting three children and two balance bikes, who made the mistake of promising hot chocolate for “good” behavior; and the small but devoted group of overeducated-but-underpaid 20-somethings who worked at the assorted independent record shops and bakeries that lined the streets of their stupidly adorable neighborhood, dragging their carefully-worn Chuck Taylors into the cafe before heading off to jobs of their own that also started far earlier than was reasonably appropriate.

So Sara, the morning opener for the last three years, would have bet her paycheck that this woman was not among any of those demographics.

She _definitely_ would have remembered seeing her.

Sara shifted her weight, taking in the slim waist, bright blue eyes, and low, tight bun that her new favorite customer wore her hair in. What she _should_ have said was, “I’m sorry, we’re not open for another ten minutes. I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside until then.” What her brain said was, “Holy shit, those _legs_.”

So rather than kick the woman out, Sara, as an _official co-owner,_ who was officially no longer cranky, decided they were opening ten minutes early instead. She leaned her elbows on the glass counter, resting her chin on her hands.

“Morning,” she drawled, a slow, easy smile spreading across her face. “What’s your poison?”

The woman just stared at her. “Pardon?”

“...Your order?” Sara prompted. “Did you need help deciding?”

Perfectly arched brows furrowed slightly. “Oh. No. Just a drip coffee, I suppose. And… what’s good to eat?”

“Uh, anything with carbs? I’m a chocolate croissant kinda girl myself.” Sara gestured to the pastry case, which was finally starting to resemble some level of organization. Sort of. Zari raised her eyebrows over her giant box of croissants. Sara ignored her.

“No,” the woman said immediately, shaking her head. “Definitely not.” Pause. Then, “I’ll just get a plain yogurt.”

Sara wrinkled her nose in distaste. Studied the woman, whose eyes, she realized, were less of a bright blue, and more of an odd sort of grey-blue, like the sky just before a storm.

God, she wanted to slap herself. Get your shit together, Sara. Jesus.

She looked at the woman again and shrugged. “Okay. Your loss. One black coffee, and one sad yogurt, coming up. Enjoy… I guess.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of the woman’s mouth. “I’m sure I will, thank you.”

Sara blew out a long breath through her teeth as she turned to collect the woman’s cup. God, couldn’t there just be _one_ regular who was both cute _and_ normal?


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sara glanced up from the spot where she was wiping down syrup bottles at the counter. Ah, yes. Hair up, pants pressed. On a Saturday, no less. Uptight, and apparently a creature of habit. Sara grinned. Given enough time and persistence, she was confident she could change that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, let’s go. Thanks for the outpouring of support for this, guys! Good news is we already have a whole chapter ahead. Woohoo! Glad to know other people are also suckers for coffee shop AUs :).
> 
> As always, we love comments! Criticisms! Avalance banter! Please, feel free. Feel encouraged.
> 
> Also, come visit us on Tumblr!  
> @iliveinfantasylife  
> @thebestdressedrebelinhistory

“One black coffee, and a plain yogurt, please.”

Sara glanced up from the spot where she was wiping down syrup bottles at the counter. Ah, yes. Hair up, pants pressed. On a Saturday, no less. Uptight, and apparently a creature of habit. Sara grinned. Given enough time and persistence, she was confident she could change that.

Sara wiped her slightly sticky hands on her rag and tucked it into her apron. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. She raised an eyebrow just slightly at the woman, quirking the corners of her lips.

“Are you sure you want plain yogurt?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the refrigerator case where the various yogurts were kept. “We have an amazing berry parfait. Well, I’ve never had it, but my coworker Amaya swears it’s amazing, and she’s into that health stuff.” She was babbling, and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to _stop_. “I mean, again, I’m all about that flakey, chocolatey goodness, but if you’ve got to go the healthy route, at least have a little fun along the way.”

The woman blinked at her a couple of times before crossing her own arms in front of her chest. “You know,” she remarked, “it’s funny. I actually don’t eat breakfast for fun. I eat it because it’s--”

“The most important meal of the day?” Sara interrupted.

The woman raised an eyebrow at her. Sara felt her face start to burn, but pushed herself off the counter, and raised an eyebrow back.

“I eat it,” the woman repeated slowly, “because it’s impossible to live without eating food.”

Sara actually gaped a little. “That,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides, “is the saddest reason to spend $6.50 that I’ve ever heard.”

Zari let out a loud snort from the back room, and Sara had to resist the urge to throw one of the steaming pitchers at her head. She started wiping down the counter in front of her, instead.

The woman tilted her head, arms still crossed, clearly amused. “I actually find not starving to be at least fair to middling on the list of good reasons to spend money.”

Sara shrugged, put down the rag, and starting punching numbers into the cash register. “I’m just saying, you could make your own coffee and buy yogurt at the grocery store for a fraction of the cost, if that’s the only reason you’re here.”

The woman dropped her arms and pulled out a plain, black, leather wallet. “That is, hands-down, the worst sales pitch I’ve ever heard. How do you have any customers at all?” She handed Sara a ten dollar bill.

Sara took the cash and flipped the rag up over her left shoulder, smiling widely. “They come back for my smiling face and sparkling wit,” she said, then winked. Then immediately regretted it, resisting the urge to make a disgusted face at herself. What the _actual_ fuck was she doing? She was not, and had never been, the sort of woman who _winked_ . _Jesus christ._ Zari let out another loud snort from the dish sink, and this time Sara wasted no time in raising up her middle finger toward the back corner.

The woman gave Sara--and her still-raised middle finger--a withering look. “You know, in some wildly unbelievable way, I can almost see that,” she said, offering Sara the briefest flash of what Sara would have sworn was a smile. “I mean,” she added, pocketing her wallet, “if all of your customers are masochists.”

This time, Zari couldn’t hold back, and let out a loud guffaw. Sara pointedly ignored her.

“Well,” she said to the woman, lowering her hand and shrugging slightly, “you would know.” Sara shot her her very cheekiest grin, pressing the woman’s change into her palm and definitely _not_ taking the opportunity to brush her fingertips along soft, warm hands. Long fingers twitched involuntarily at the touch, closing instinctively around Sara’s before pulling away quickly.

The woman looked at Sara as though burned by her touch, and it was enough to make Sara’s breath catch in her throat.

Like she was in goddamn high school again.

Like this was the first time she had ever touched a pretty girl.

Like she was that pathetic.

She might be that pathetic.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Sara,” the woman asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed, “do you flirt with all of your customers?”
> 
> “Pretty much,” Sara said brightly.
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s actually a lie,” came a dry voice from the kitchen doorway. “She only flirts with the cute ones.” Zari appeared, carrying,of all things, the fucking oven mitt in one hand.
> 
> “Zari, I will fucking fire your ass.” Sara swatted at her with the dish towel that she had tossed onto the counter.
> 
> Zari neatly dodged it, and began swinging the handle loop of the oven mitt around one finger. “You can’t fire me, this is a co-op.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hi, I'm not the usual poster of chapters!) You guys are all too sweet! iliveinfantasies and I have sucked at keeping up with comments because we've been moving/packing/unpacking/painting/wishing for the sweet embrace of death for the last week, but don't think we didn't see them all and lose our shit over the fact that everyone is actually reading this derpy little fic. We're hoping to have chapter 4 done in a few days, and now that we're done with the hell that is our move it should actually be possible!
> 
> Come visit us on Tumblr, too, we don't suck, I promise.  
> @thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me)  
> @iliveinfantasylife (Cate)

“ZARI, WHERE IS THE OVEN MITT?”

Sara shoved her way around the cafe kitchen, pushing things haphazardly to the side, searching in vain for the elusive oven mitt. The oven timer beeped at her, loudly, insistently, from the back.

Zari, ever the morning person, grunted loudly from her place at the sink, and threw another mug into the soap suds. The closers last night had been slammed, and didn’t get to finish all of the dishes. This meant that Zari and Sara, the perpetual openers, had to finish what the closers didn’t get to finish last night--and it had put them a solid 15 minutes behind schedule.

Giving up on the oven mitt altogether, she grabbed a rag, yanked open the oven door, and immediately burned the crap out of her finger on the door. 

“ _ Shit,”  _ she hissed, shaking out her hand, before pulling the cookies gingerly out of the oven.

The stupid bell chimed from the front, pulling her out of her frantic hunt. Yesterday, it had chimed at exactly 6:05 AM. Still holding her tray of cookies, Sara glanced out at the front of the shop. Her stomach jumped, just a little, at the sight of yet another perfectly pressed pantsuit. Then she glanced at the clock. 6:05 AM. Like clockwork.

God, she had a problem.

She hurriedly put down her tray of cookies (on top of two cambro lids, one empty tea bag satchel, and, yes, the fucking oven mitt), and made her way out to the front counter.

The woman was remarkably unrattled, tilting her head slightly at Sara as she slid into place behind the register. Sara realized she was still holding the rag, and tossed it on the counter behind her before offering the woman a crooked grin.

“Welcome to the Waverider Cafe,” she said, doffing an imaginary hat in the woman’s direction. “My name is Sara, and I’ll be your extremely attractive and helpful barista today, here to help with any and all needs you may have.”

Cue the ever-consistent eyebrow raise.

“Your name is Sara.” 

Cue an expectant stare.

The way the woman drew out her name,  _ Sa-ra _ , like she was savoring all two syllables, made Sara bite the inside of her cheek, hard. She swallowed. 

“Yup!” she said, weakly. “Has been my whole life.”

Cue  an impressively exaggerated roll of the eyes.

“So, Sara,” the woman asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed, “do you flirt with all of your customers?”   
  
“Pretty much,” Sara said brightly. 

  
“That’s actually a lie,” came a dry voice from the kitchen doorway. “She only flirts with the cute ones.” Zari appeared, carrying,of all things, the fucking  _ oven mitt _ in one hand.   
  
“Zari, I will fucking fire your ass.” Sara swatted at her with the dish towel that  she had tossed onto the counter. 

Zari neatly dodged it, and began swinging the handle loop of the oven mitt around one finger.  “You can’t fire me, this is a co-op.”

“Then why am I the one doing  _ all of the work _ right now?” Sara asked,  putting one hand on her hip, and gesturing the other hand vaguely in the woman’s direction.

“You’re not working, you’re flirting,” Zari shot back. “Which, while apparently good at bringing customers back, is not at all related to the running of a coffee shop.  Here, by the way,” she added, tossing the oven mitt at Sara. Sara caught it, and rolled her eyes.

“I’m bringing in tips!”  she retorted, throwing the oven mitt back at Zari’s chest, and grabbing a paper cup.  

“Her phone number isn’t a tip,”  Zari scoffed, grabbing a yogurt and plunking it down on the glass countertop.

“ _ Excuse  _ me,” the woman said, frowning as she flipped through her wallet with her fingers. “ _ She  _ is right here. And I am not leaving anyone my phone number.” She placed money delicately on the countertop. “The only thing I’m  _ leaving _ is this situation.” She turned, yogurt and coffee in hand, and headed toward the cafe door.

“Not yet,” Sara muttered under her breath at the woman’s retreating figure. Then, turning to Zari, “Thanks, asshole.”

“Don’t blame me,” Zari shrugged unapologetically. “Next time don’t hit on hot blondes in the middle of Saturday rush. Oh, and by the way.” She thrust the oven mitt into Sara’s chest, smirking. “Found this for you.”


	4. Bring the Booze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Zari,” Sara said. “Go unload the dishwasher so we can get out of here. I’ve got a serious headache, and an even more serious need for booze.” Zari raised an eyebrow.
> 
> “Fuck off, Captain,” Zari said, punctuating the word “captain” with an impressive eye roll. “I’ll unload the dishwasher. But later, you bring the apartment, I’ll bring the booze. Amaya’s on food because I don’t trust you to not kill me with your cooking, intentionally or otherwise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies, this is the first chapter we've actually written like, physically TOGETHER, and it was a wild experience. All the ones up to this point, I've done the framework and iliveinfantasies has made it pretty after the fact, but we decided to add this little filler chapter in the flesh things out and keep them moving at a more manageable pace, and I think it turned out really well! We're both really happy with how this one turned out, so I hope you all like it as much as we do! Because otherwise we wasted two hours sitting at Starbucks waiting for our car to get an oil change for nothing lol ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> As always, come fangirl at us on Tumblr, we love it and need more friends! We are thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me) and iliveinfantasylife (Cate)!

It had been a particularly horrible shift, even by Sara’s admittedly low standards. Seven different men had called her “baby” (one of whom did so with such slime in his voice that she almost “accidentally” dropped a cappuccino on his hand); three middle-aged women claimed they were friends with her manager and would be letting him know how bad Sara was at her job (they had quieted very quickly at Sara’s overly-chipper-and-slightly-menacing “Actually, _I’m_ the manager here”); and one counterfeiter was absolutely adamant that his $50 bill--which was a solid half-inch too small and actually read “In God We Trut”--was legitimate currency that they were legally obligated to accept.

Zari, it seemed, was not faring much better. She was sporting a streak of mocha down her shirt, a large stain on her sneakers from where an (admittedly very cute) child had dropped their hot chocolate while Zari was in the splash zone, and a scowl that threatened all manner of unpleasantness on the next person to cross her.

“Zari,” Sara said. “Go unload the dishwasher so we can get out of here. I’ve got a serious headache, and an even more serious need for booze.” Zari raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck off, _Captain_ ,” Zari said, punctuating the word “captain” with an impressive eye roll. “I’ll unload the dishwasher. But later, you bring the apartment, I’ll bring the booze. Amaya’s on food because I don’t trust you to not kill me with your cooking, intentionally or otherwise.”

“I’m not cooking,” said Amaya instantly from behind the wash sink. “I need a shower before I go anywhere, and I refuse to try and use Sara’s kitchen again.”

“There is nothing wrong with my kitchen!” Sara protested.

“Except that it’s approximately two square feet and hasn’t been deep cleaned in ever?” Zari said, yanking mugs out of the dishwasher so hard that Sara was sure she would send them flying.

Glaring in Zari’s general direction, Sara huffed. “I spend all day deep cleaning at work. Excuse me for not spending my entire life at it.”

“But would two seconds kill you?” Zari shot back.

“It very well might,” Amaya murmured, dunking a plate in the soapy water.

Sara scoffed. “I’m done talking to you two.” She tossed an empty cambro at Zari, who barely caught it in time.

“My house, 10:00. And don’t forget the booze.”

———-

Zari, two vodka lemonades in and alternating between bites of chicken chow mein and sweet and sour chicken, jabbed her chopsticks at Sara’s face. “Our _fearless leader_ here has a crush, Amaya. Has she told you?” Deftly dodging the empty rice container flying at her head, she continued, “Or is she _embarrassed_?”

Amaya glanced up from a tub of hot and sour soup that somewhat resembled dishwater. “Does she now,” she said mildly.

“Sure does,” said Zari, gleefully, at the exact moment that Sara said, “No, she does _not_. What the fuck, Zari.”

“That even _sounds_ like a lie,” Zari taunted.

Amaya, whose expression gave away nothing, shrugged into her soup. “Well, Sara and I don’t work together as much as you two do,” she said reasonably. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, she added, “So it’s a lot harder for her to spill all of the sordid details of her extensive list of romantic pursuits to me.”

“Ex- _cuse_ me!” Sara said indignantly. “My list of romantic pursuits is neither extensive nor relevant to the conversation here!”

“Wrong,” Zari countered immediately, infuriatingly, narrowing her eyes at Sara. “I’ve had to watch you make heart eyes at tall, blonde, and bitchy for the last three days. I call all kinds of bullshit on everything you just said.”

“Oh, is she _blonde_?” Amaya asked. “Well, that does change things.”

“Right?” Zari said, shoving an especially large piece of chicken into her mouth. “I think Sara has a type.”

Sara fixed each of them with her best glare. “I do _not_ have a type, and why are we even talking about this?”

“You absolutely have a type,” Amaya countered, completely ignoring the glare.

“Like that one British guy?” Zari said around her mouthful of chicken. “God, he was a tool.”

“Or the guy you told me about from before you left Star City? Oliver?” Amaya added.

Sara threw her arms up in exasperation, nearly dislodging the carton of broccoli beef on her lap. “Leave Ollie out of this, what the fuck is wrong with you? I regret everything I have ever told you. And you,” she added, jabbing a finger in Zari’s direction. “Chew your damn food, Zar, seriously.”

“Then again,” Zari said with faux-thoughtfulness, ignoring Sara altogether, “there was also that one chick. What was her name, Gwen? She had auburn hair.”

“Why the fuck do you know all the hair colors of all my one-night-stands?” Sara tried to interject, but the other two carried on, continuing to ignore her.

“Oh,” Amaya chimed in, “and that other one, um. I don’t know if I actually got her name, she was only around for like, an afternoon. But she was a redhead.”

“So,” Zari concluded, tossing her now empty food container onto the table, “her type is actually ‘breathing.’”

“You two are the fucking worst,” Sara scowled. “And regardless of what you think my type is--and it is _not--_ I absolutely do not have any sort of feelings for anyone. Except for the feeling of wanting to strangle the both of you, right now.”

Zari leaned in, fixing Sara with the sort of look a teacher might give an especially daft student. “You know, I really cannot tell if you’re trying to save face, or if you actually believe that. I think you might. Which is really kind of sad, in an extra pathetic way.”

“I believe it,” Sara said, a little too forcefully, “because it’s _fucking true_ , Zar.”

Zari shrugged. “Whatever you say.” Reaching under the table, she ripped a beer out of a six pack, tossing it to Sara. “Here,” she said, seriously. “This will help.”

Sara glanced down at the label, then did a double take. Then groaned. Somewhere along the line, after finding out that Sara liked beer, Zari had begun bringing six packs along when she brought alcohol to their girl’s nights. Normally, this would be considered sweet. However, since it was Zari, these beers were always in some increasingly experimental bizarre flavor that Sara was absolutely sure Zari had to drive all over creation to find. So far, the joke was on Zari--usually, Sara didn’t even acknowledge that she knew Zari was doing it. Plus, the only one Sara had actively disliked was a particularly disgusting chocolate pumpkin stout. Not that she’d let _Zari_ know that. She had chugged it down like a trooper, followed by increasingly frequent shots of whiskey. This beer, however. This beer really took the cake. Sara made a face.

“Jelly Donut IPA, Zari, really?”

Zari shrugged, serious expression still fixed on her face. “I’m just trying to be supportive, Sara.”

Sara cracked the tab and took a cautious sip. Then frowned, and took another. “It’s not... _disgusting_ ,” she said at last.

Zari wrinkled her nose. “But you are. God, you will drink anything.”

Sara decided to roll with the jab, happy to finally be off the subject of her romantic life. Not that she had a romantic life to speak of. In fact, she had put a good amount of effort into ensuring that she did _not_ have a romantic life, since moving away from Star City three years ago. God, had it already been three years? Three years since the accident. Three years since the falling out. Three years since she left her childhood home for a badly-needed new beginning, in a badly-needed new life.

Sara took a giant swig of the beer. If this was actually _feelings_ , like Zari was so intent on believing, she needed to drink a lot more.

Not that it was.

It definitely, absolutely, unequivocally, was not.

“Seriously though, Sara,” Zari said, placing one hand on each of Sara’s shoulders. She smelled like vodka and chicken. Sara wrinkled her nose. “Real talk. I see you flirt with customers all day, every day. So much that it makes me throw up in my mouth a little sometimes. And this? This is something else.”


	5. Days 4 & 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sooo,” Sara drawled, filling the cup Wally gave her with coffee. “Now that you know my secret identity, do I get to find out your name? Or should I just keep calling you my secret agent woman?” She popped the lid on, and placed it down on the front counter by the register.
> 
> The woman narrowed her eyes slightly. “I’m not your anything,” she said, reaching to grab her wallet. But when she lowered her head, Sara saw a pink flush sweep across the woman’s cheeks, and knew she almost had her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry for taking literally forever to update, life really got out of hand for us over here, and despite our best intentions, and a lot of looking at each other and going "we should really post that update," somehow that never quite happened. But we are back, and better than ever (maybe), and definitely (hopefully) not going to suck this much again!
> 
> Extra note from Cate: I don’t know how we overlooked the pork in the last chapter. Sorry, all. I feel especially stupid since I’m literally Jewish and ate no pork at all growing up. But sometimes that’s just how hints go—they slip our minds. So thanks for pointing out the oversight!
> 
> Come join us on Tumblr, we are thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me) and iliveinfantasylife (Cate)!

**Day 4**

Sara glanced up at the clock for what felt like the two-hundredth time, then frowned. 6:09 AM. 

Then she mentally smacked herself. Yep, nope, this was  _ not _ happening. She hands-down refused to be quite this pathetic. She finished up scrubbing the milk pitcher she was working on and tossed it, maybe a little harder than necessary, into the rinse sink next to her. It let out a loud, but ultimately unsatisfying, splash.

“Hey!” Wally protested, leaping back from his spot next to her at the sink. “What gives?” Sara glanced over to see that the entire front of his shirt covered in little specks of soap suds. She snorted.

“Sorry, Wally. Here.” She grabbed a rag, just as the front door bell chimed. She tossed the rag at him, and turned to bolt toward the front of the store.

“Yo,” he said, grabbing the pitcher out of the sink. “We’re not done! We still have a whole sink-full of mugs to go. And Amaya’s out front.”

Sara spun around again, walking backwards as she went.

“Wally, you’re the fastest dishwasher we have. I have com _ plete _ faith in you. Besides,” she added, bracing one hand on each side of the doorframe. “There’s something I need to check on.” Wally leaned out from the sink to peer toward the front. A slow grin spread across his face.

“ _ Ohh _ ,” he said, winking exaggeratedly at Sara. She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, wait!” He said, tossing a paper cup at her. “Take this.”

Sara stopped to glance down at the cup, then laughed.

“Thanks, Wally.” She winked back at him, and ran out the kitchen door.

“Yes, our coffee today is--” Amaya was saying, but cut herself off mid-sentence as Sara slid behind the counter on both heels. She turned to stare at Sara, crossing her arms.

“Uh,” she said, raising her eyebrows in Sara’s direction. “Okay.”

Sara attempted her best “just go with it please” look for Amaya, then glanced over the counter.

Sure enough. Blue pantsuit. Low, perfect bun. Long eyelashes over grey-blue eyes.

Unlike Amaya, the woman looked entirely unsurprised.

“Sara,” the woman said, nodding curtly in Sara’s direction. Cue stomach flip.

Dammit.

“Sooo,”  Sara drawled, filling the cup Wally gave her with coffee. “ Now that you know my secret identity, do I get to find out your name? Or should I just keep calling you my secret agent woman?”  She popped the lid on, and placed it down on the front counter by the register.   


The woman narrowed her eyes slightly.  “I’m not your anything,”  she said,  reaching to grab her wallet . But when she lowered her head, Sara saw a pink flush sweep across the woman’s cheeks, and knew she almost had her.

_ Almost _ .

“But you  _ could _ be,”  Sara said brightly,  reaching down to grab a single serve yogurt out of the fridge .  She pushed yogurt and coffee toward the woman, fixing her expression into one of mock-seriousness.  “Your breakfast is on the house today. A meal this sad shouldn’t be paid for. But tomorrow, you’re branching out.”

The woman scoffed, but took the coffee and yogurt anyway. Then, eyeing Sara suspiciously, she sipped gingerly at the coffee, as though to make sure she hadn’t been slipped a different drink instead in the name of “branching out.” Sara raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. The woman kept her suspicious expression as she swallowed. Then, satisfied that it was, in fact her usual--boring, Sara thought--coffee, she glanced over at Sara.

“Thank you… I think,” she said, before turning to leave.

As soon as the godawful bell chimed, Amaya spun on Sara.

“You know that’s coming out of your paycheck, right?”  she said, hands still on her hips.

Sara ran a hand through her hair, still watching the woman’s retreating figure through the glass of the front door. “Amaya, if this pays off, it will be so worth it,” she said, grinning even more widely.

Sara could almost see the light go on in Amaya’s head as she took in the situation, placing two fingers to her temple as she said, “Sara, please, for the love of god, tell me that you did  _ not  _ write your number on that cup.”

Sara turned to look solemnly into Amaya’s eyes. “I did not write my number on that cup,”  she repeated heading back to check on the dishes. Amaya let out a small noise of relief.  Then, almost as an afterthought,  she added,  “Wally did it for me.”

—-

 

**Day 5**

 

**_6:47 a.m._ **

_ I can’t believe you wrote your phone number on my cup. _

 

**_9:58 a.m._ **

_ Awfully presumptuous to assume it was me _

**_9:59 a.m._ **

_ How do you even know it was me? _

**_9:59 a.m._ **

_ You still don’t even know who me is _

**_10:00 a.m._ **

_ Also, just saying, it worked. You texted me. _

 

**_10:16 a.m._ **

_ Please tell me you didn’t just wake up. _

 

**_10:19 a.m._ **

_ Tuesdays are my day off  _

**_10:19 a.m._ **

_ Sometimes I like to not wake up at 4:30 in the morning _

 

**_10:26 a.m._ **

_ So I heard, from your coworker who told me that apparently you’ve forbidden them to sell me black coffee and plain yogurt anymore. _

 

**_10:28 a.m._ **

_ Did that work? _

 

**_10:30 a.m._ **

_ No. _

**_10:31 a.m._ **

_ She also said, and I quote, “Why does she always forget that just because she handles the paperwork, doesn’t mean she’s my fucking boss.” _

 

**_10:33 a.m._ **

_ Fucking Zari _

**_10:45 a.m._ **

_ So, now that I’ve got your number, want to give me your name? Because I wasn’t kidding, right now you’re in my phone as “Secret Agent Woman” _

 

**_10:55 a.m._ **

_ Seriously? _

 

**_10:57 a.m._ **

_ Do you want a screenshot? _

 

**_10:59 a.m._ **

_ It’s Ava. _

 

**_11:00 a.m._ **

_ Cute ;) _

 

**_11:15 a.m._ **

_ Why are you like this? _

 

**_11:16 a.m._ **

_ Like what? Cute? Charming?  _

 

**_11:17 a.m._ **

_ Impossible. _

 

**_11:18 a.m._ **

_ Impossibly cute and charming? _

 

Sara paused for just a moment, just long enough for doubt to start creeping in, before typing:

**_11:22 a.m._ **

_ About to ask you on an impromptu-but-in-a-cute-and-charming-way lunch date? _

 

**_Read 11:27 a.m._ **


	6. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst part was, she honestly didn’t even know why she cared so damn much. It’s not like she hadn’t been rejected before. Except this wasn’t just her average rejection--it was deliberate, meaningful silence. And that’s what made Sara so anxious. Because fuck, she had put herself out there, and she honestly didn’t put this much effort into anyone, ever. At least, not for a very, very long time. And she wouldn’t have cared if Ava had just said no, of course, but fuck, this was so, so much worse and--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We busted our butts for this one, you guys. By which I mean we spent way too much money sitting at a cafe writing this chapter this morning. Which is fitting, but also we don't focus at home so like... this is how we do this. This fic is expensive, y'all lol.
> 
> Anyway, we hope you enjoy this update! Come join us on Tumblr to rant and cry about Avalance. We are thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me) and iliveinfantasylife (Cate). Until next time! <3

**_9:43 p.m._ **

_ Or maybe not. _

 

**_Read 9:46 p.m._ **

 

**_11:28 p.m._ **

_ Yeah. Sorry. _

 

**_Read 5:28 a.m._ **

  
  


Sara was in a truly foul mood. She had spent the better part of one of her precious days off obsessively checking her phone, waiting for a response she knew in her gut wasn’t going to come. Then, after that, downing a few more shots of Svedka than she probably should have , and taking out the nervous bundle of energy in her chest on the sad-looking punching bag in the corner of her bedroom that made up her “gym.”  Now, emotionally exhausted , nerves shot, and  just  the tiniest bit hungover, Sara couldn’t seem to make herself focus on her open. She had floated absently from station to station all morning, leaving used-up coffee filters and an open register full of cash in her wake, only vaguely aware of what was happening around her. She couldn’t even muster up a response when Zari snapped at her to “please, for the  _ love of fuck _ , get whatever shit you’ve lost back together so I don’t have to open this store by myself. You’re making  _ more work _ for me.”

And the worst part was, she honestly didn’t even know why she cared so damn much. It’s not like she hadn’t been rejected before. Except this wasn’t just her average rejection--it was deliberate, meaningful  _ silence _ . And that’s what made Sara so anxious. Because  _ fuck _ , she had put herself out there, and she honestly didn’t put this much effort into anyone, ever. At least, not for a very, very long time. And she wouldn’t have cared if Ava had just said  _ no,  _ of course, but fuck, this was so, so much worse and--

The bell chimed.

Sara didn’t know exactly what she had been expecting from this day, but the second she heard that goddamn bell chime her head automatically snapped up from the register to stare at the clock and she knew, she just fucking  _ knew _ exactly what it would say.

Yep. 6:05 a.m. Well, Ava was nothing if not fucking punctual.

She glanced towards the door to see, of course, the  one person she  _ absolutely did not want to see _ . Ava, in her neatly pressed suit. Ava, in her too-perfect-bun. Ava, wearing her superiority like an actual, physical object around her. Ava, who, for reasons unknown, seemed to make Sara want to act like a complete idiot--the day before had been some painfully present proof of that. Ava walked cooly up to the register, her expression betraying no hint of the conversation from the day before.

Sara blinked at Ava for one painfully long moment before promptly turning her head and calling into the back room. “Zari!” she yelled into the kitchen, where Zari was washing out whipped cream canisters from the night before. “Customer!”

Zari’s scowling face popped out from the doorway. “I’m doing dishes, Sara,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why the hell--” she cut herself off as her darted to Ava, then back to Sara. Her expression softened slightly and she beckoned Sara over, placing one hand firmly on Sara’s shoulder.

“Don’t bitch out now,” she stage-whispered. “You’ll hate yourself for it later.” She patted Sara’s shoulder awkwardly one last time before slipping back into the kitchen. Sara groaned inwardly. What kind of absolutely useless, piece-of-shit advice was that?

Sara turned around, fighting the urge to cringe at how spectacularly she had managed to somehow make the situation  _ even worse.  _ No fucking thanks to Zari, of course. She would bring  _ that _ up later. But right now, Ava was still standing there in front of her, arms crossed, giving Sara that what-exactly-are-you- _ doing _ look that Sara was so used to being on the receiving end of at this point. So Sara plastered on her best Retail Smile, and asked “What can I get for you this morning?” in her best approximation of a pleasant tone.

“Oh, are you actually ready to take my order now?” Ava asked, dryly. Sara felt herself flush, slightly, and her blood begin to surge with instant annoyance.

“Look,” she snapped, then stopped herself. Let out a long sigh. “Ava,” she began again, almost sheepishly, then paused. God, she fucking loathed herself right now. She was like a simpering teenager. Or just way, way out of her element, “Look, um.,” Yeah. Very fucking eloquent.

Ava just stared back, one eyebrow slightly raised, face schooled into an expression of cool composure.

“What?” she asked with an air of impatience.  As though Sara’s existence itself was an imposition. “Did you have something to say?”

The surge of annoyance flared again, spinning itself quickly into a prickling anger across her skin. She narrowed her eyes as her stomach churned. Her cheeks burned almost painfully.

“No,” she hissed, channelling all of her anger and annoyance and embarrassment and--somehow, annoyingly, still attraction--into that one word. “Absolutely nothing.”

She turned around, busying herself with her tasks at hand. Fill small cup with coffee. Open door. Grab yogurt. She performed each task automatically, stomach churning uneasily while she  attempted to get her shit under control. What was it, exactly, about this woman? This woman who, at the moment, was a continuous, frustrating, infuriating pain in her ass?  Sara barely knew Ava, and had had all of one conversation with her that didn’t involve a coffee order, and that one conversation had gone  _ spectacularly  _ poorly, and she hated how much she cared about that, but she fucking  _ did _ , and she couldn’t make it stop.

Because there was  _ something _ there. Something more than just the woman’s legs, or eyes, or incredibly rare hint of a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. Though Sara had to admit it had been just those things that caught her attention, at first. There was more to it, than that.

But whatever  _ it  _ was, that didn’t matter. None of that mattered. Because Ava was clearly not interested, and this was entirely too much work for a woman who barely even bothered to muster up basic civility when Sara was around, and there was just no possible  _ way  _ that she was worth it, and...

And so instead of flirting, or fighting, or interjecting the silence with a cheeky-yet-truthful quip, or any of the other actions she could perform that would be absolutely, quintessentially  _ Sara _ , she just turned back toward the register and put Ava’s order down on the counter between them.

“Here,” she said, flatly. “This one’s on the house. Again.” And turned around before she could hear, or see, or absorb any reaction Ava had. All she heard was a small “hm,” then the telltale noise of overly-practical business shoes making their way across the floor.

But as the footsteps clacked their way toward the door, Sara yanked her phone out of her pocket to send one, final text.

 

**_6:11 a.m._ **

_ You could have just said no. _

 

And as she shoved her phone back in her pocket, she could have sworn she heard the footsteps pause, just for a moment, before the bell finally chimed.


	7. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara paused, not looking up. That voice. That voice. Silky, but rough around the edges, like pudding left in a pot too long. The voice of the one person she really did not want to see. She sighed, then glanced up to see Ava, looking profoundly uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. She offered a small smile to Sara, but all Sara sent back was stone-faced silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, y'all! This chapter is a little shorter, and definitely full of Angry! Angst!, but like, honestly, that's what we do here, so it was only a matter of time. It was fun to write though, especially because this was the least fleshed-out bit of our outline, so there was a lot of work to do on it. As always, read, comment, and find us on Tumblr (iliveinfantasylife and thebestdressedrebelinhistory)!

“One black coffee and a berry parfait, please.” 

Sara paused, not looking up. That voice.  _ That _ voice. Silky, but rough around the edges, like pudding left in a pot too long. The voice of the one person she  _ really did not want to see. _ She sighed, then glanced up to see  Ava , looking profoundly uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. She offered a small smile to Sara, but all Sara sent back was stone-faced silence.

“Sorry, I said--”

“I heard you,” Sara interrupted sharply. “Oh, wait, actually, hold on,” She turned around to face the coffee makers, ignoring Ava’s small sound of confusion, and plastered on her best disturbingly fake customer service smile before spinning back around toward Ava. “Seven dollars,” she said, cheerily, grabbing a paper cup and filling it up with coffee.

As she reached down to grab the yogurt, she could have sworn she saw the other woman flinch before clearing her throat.

“Sara, I--”  Ava began, b ut she never got to finish,  because right then a timer went off behind Sara’s head. Sara growled quietly, and put the yogurt just a little too forcefully on the counter.

“Have a nice day,”  she said before turning away, injecting the words with a finality that left no room for argument. She smacked savagely at the timer. Sara knew she wasn’t quite  being  fair, she did, but god, Ava had ghosted her  _ in person _ . She was about to turn around and apologize when Ava said,

“God, do you have a problem being professional, or something?”

Sara’s cheeks blazed, her chest sparking in an odd combination of fury and shame. She let out a loud scoff, spinning back around on her heels, boring her eyes into Ava’s own. She was  _ not  _ going to have it out with Ava in the middle of her work. She was, if nothing else, at least professional enough for that.

_ No, Ava,  _ she thought.  _ I have a problem with  _ you _ and your overcast-eyes and your holier-than-thou attitude and the fact that I still can’t seem to hate you for it. _

Instead, what she said was, “No,  _ Ava. _ I can be exactly as professional as you want me to be,” before turning back around and pretending to tend to the coffee pot.

She swallowed down the growing lump in her throat as she heard the bell chime behind her.

\---

The remainder of Sara’s shift passed infuriatingly slowly.  She felt oddly drained, and more than a little stupid. Her phone sat like a weight in her pocket,  a consistent, nagging reminder of  entirely too much emotional bullshit,  until, finally, she grabbed the damn thing and threw it into her purse, determined not to look at it for the remainder of her shift. And possibly the rest of the week.

Zari seemed to have given up on coaxing either conversation or productivity out of Sara, and, after she shattered her third shot glass of the morning, overruled her and sent her to the back room to “do dishes or inventory or something that isn’t actively destructive, _please_.” Sara had wanted so badly to balk at being given orders by someone who was _very much not her boss_. But the words had caught in her throat and instead came out as a frustrated grunt, and Sara  acquiesced and made her way back to the dish sink. When Amaya came in at noon, Sara didn’t even acknowledge her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amaya shoot a questioning glance in Zari’s direction, and Zari’s resigned shrug. And it’s not like Sara didn’t know she was being an idiot--she just honestly didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with her own idiocy. Not when she was on her third double of the week and way, way too fixated on some random fucking customer for some godforsaken reason, like it was the first time she’d ever had a damn crush.

She accidentally dropped the same mug back into the wash sink for the third time, and groaned. Yeah, honestly, fuck this.  She really, really needed to get the fuck over  whatever this was, and get on with her life.

So why, exactly, was she still thinking about it?


	8. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara nearly dropped her tray. She glanced up, stomach dropping just slightly. Only it wasn’t Ava standing in the door. Instead, it was a young man in a blue suit and glasses, looking impressively disheveled, as though he might have sprinted all the way there.
> 
> The man stopped in front of the counter, glasses sliding precariously down his nose. He was the sort of customer who, until recently, Sara would have said they never get. Guess she had been proven wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO everyone. I'm so, so sorry it's taken this long to update this fic. I (iliveinfantasies) had to channel all my time and energy after work into finishing (starting, finishing, creating all of) our Avalance cosplay for Comic Expo, and frankly, it took all my time. We're so grateful to everyone for the comments, messages, urges to write more, etc, and it does make a difference! P.S. Next chapter gets you all some fun, in person, grade a certified Avalance. So stay tuned!
> 
> Come talk about Avalance (or anything else) with us on Tumblr at iliveinfantasylife (me) and thebestdressedrebelinhistory (Lysippe).
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Day 7**

From the moment Sara arrived at the cafe at 5 am the next day, she began to brace herself for the inevitable 6:05 arrival.

And from the moment Zari Tomaz kicked the door open at her usual consistent-but-still-somehow-always-late arrival time of 5:04 am, she began giving Sara hell for it. In fact, the very first words out of Zari’s mouth upon stepping inside were, “you’re being an idiot, you know.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Good morning to you too, Z,” she huffed before walking to the back office and dropping down to fiddle with the safe. 

“I’m serious,” Zari said, striding behind Sara and dropping her bag on the desk with a loud clank. “Either  _ do something about it _ or let it go, already, and move on. You’re moping.”

Sara looked up from the safe--a giant, clunky thing that they weren’t 100% sure hadn’t come from some old hollywood movie set about a bank heist and always took at least three tries before it would consent to being opened--and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, tried that, and it didn’t exactly work, did it?” She looked back down at the dial, yanking on the handle. Nothing. She let out a groan and spun the dial back to zero. “Besides,” she added, twisting more forcefully. “She’s clearly not interested.”

Zari snorted lightly, leaning against the desk, arms crossed. “Sara, uninterested parties don’t send text messages to random numbers left on cups.”

Sara shrugged, currently on her fourth consecutive attempt to open the safe, and said, “Maybe she just wanted to know whose number it was.” She let out a frustrated noise, a half-grunt-half-growl, and smacked the safe door, savagely. “ _ Fuck,”  _ she hissed, shaking out her hand.

Zari barked out a full on laugh, and dropped down next to Sara. “Sara,” she said, nudging Sara out of the way and spinning the dial. “There’s not a woman on this earth who looks at a number on a cup and goes ‘oh, you know, what? This feels like a  _ fantastic _ day to potentially be sent a dick pic. Let me go ahead and text this random number.’” Zari popped open the safe and grabbed the money bag.

“Here,” she said, pressing it into Sara’s chest. “Now snap out of it.” She stood up, and strode into the kitchen.

Sara narrowed her eyes and pushed herself upward, chest burning in irritation. She followed Zari into the kitchen.

“I’m  _ fine _ , Z,” she hissed to Zari’s back, pressing the words through gritted teeth. She flicked on the ovens, pulling down sheet pans as she went. Zari stayed turned, focused on the cambros of coffee on a kitchen rack, but Sara could still sense the eye roll even from there.

“That’s some all natural, USDA certified bullshit right there. You know it, I know it, I’m pretty sure even Pumpkin Spice Kelly knows it and she isn’t even a morning customer.”

Zari was right, and Sara knew it. But she was also, under absolutely no circumstances, going to tell her that.

Instead, Sara channeled her efforts into actually opening the cafe. Putting in a good solid effort, anyway. Then suddenly, the next time she looked up at the clock (a mistake, and a habit she  _ really  _ needed to train herself out of), it was 5:52. And despite all the insisting to Zari that she was “fine, thank you very much,” Sara was most decidedly  _ not  _ fine, not exactly. And absolutely not ready to face Ava again. Not after all of the stupid that was apparently every single interaction they ever had.

Except 6:05 came, and it went. No tinny chime, no low bun, no ocean-eyes or clacking heels or overly-practical leather wallet. Nothing but the low hum of the oven and the slow, steady drip of coffee into the carafe.

It was all driving her just a little bit insane.

Sara’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. Her chest gave an odd little jolt as she reached to pull it out.

 

**_Z the Donut Thief_ **

**_6:08 a.m._ **

_ Sara, as your friend, and coworker, please set up the damn pastries already. _

 

“Fuck off, Zari,” Sara growled, glowering at Zari’s form at the condiment counter.

“Get your shit together, then,” Zari retorted, gesturing at Sara with a handful of plastic spoons. Then she sighed, and walked over to where Sara was standing.

“Look,” she said, more softly now, placing one hand on each of Sara’s shoulders. Still, for some reason, holding the spoons. “I know that this is an actual thing, going on with you, and it kind of sucks. But also, I cannot carry this open by myself. And, more importantly, I do not want to. This level of pining is not healthy. Now,” she added, picking up a tray of cookies and physically placing them into Sara’s hands. “Take these, and put them in that case.”

Sara glanced down at the tray in her hands, and opened her mouth to retort, or argue, or deny, or any number of other potential responses. But right at that moment, the door chimed.

Sara nearly dropped her tray. She glanced up, stomach dropping just slightly. Only it wasn’t Ava standing in the door. Instead, it was a young man in a blue suit and glasses, looking impressively disheveled, as though he might have sprinted all the way there.

The man stopped in front of the counter, glasses sliding precariously down his nose. He was the sort of customer who, until recently, Sara would have said they  _ never _ get. Guess she had been proven wrong. She attempted to switch her brain into customer service mode. She smiled at the man.

“Hi,” she said, almost cheerily. “What can I get ya?”

“Hi, uh, can I get uh,” the man pulled a phone out of his suit pocket, glancing at it briefly before finishing. “A black coffee and a chocolate croissant?” 

Sara punched in the order and grabbed a pastry bag. “You got it. That’ll be seven even.”

“Thanks,” the man said. Then he paused, glancing up at Sara almost guiltily. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to be Sara, would you?” 

Sara stopped halfway through bagging a croissant to narrow her eyes at the fidgeting, nervous man before her. “That depends  _ very _ heavily on who’s asking,” she said, putting the pastry bag down on the counter and crossing her arms. Yep, this was definitely going nowhere good.

The man actually blanched a little. “I’m Gary. I mean, that’s my name. Ms. Sharpe says she’s sorry. That is, she wanted me to tell you that. If you were here. Which I guess you are.” His eyes darted around the cafe, finding everything except Sara’s gaze.

Sara blinked at him for a moment, temporarily baffled. “Who?” she asked blankly, running through the list of people she knew in her head.

“Oh.” The man looked momentarily perplexed, before seeming to realize what pieces of the puzzle were missing. “She’s Ava to you, huh?”

_ Oh.  _ Sara bristled at the name. “Well,  _ Ms. Sharpe _ is a grown woman, last I checked. Even if she can’t act like one. And she can tell me that herself.” Sara pulled down a little too hand on the spigot and splashed burning hot coffee onto her hand. She cursed internally, shaking out her burning fingers. She smacked the coffee cup onto the counter in front of Gary. 

“Feel free to tell her that, by the way, if you’re in the business of delivering messages.”

Gary picked up his order and hurried out the door, looking a little bit like a kicked puppy.

Zari eyed Sara, pouring fresh beans to be ground. “You know that was  _ way _ too harsh, right?” she said. “The poor guy’s probably some unpaid intern or something equally terrible, just getting his shitty boss her coffee.”

Sara ignored her.

* * *

 

 

**_Still Secret Agent Woman_ **

**_12:06 p.m._ **

_ In my defense, I did try to apologize. _

 

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:13 p.m._ **

_ In my defense, you fucking ghosted me. _

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:13 p.m._ **

_ Twice. _

**_Still Secret Agent Woman_ **

**_12:15 p.m._ **

_ Sending my assistant to get my coffee is not ghosting. _

_ **Still Secret Agent Woman** _

**_12:17 p.m._ **

_ But I’ll cop to the first charge. _

 

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:18 p.m._ **

_ Are you actually that cold, or is this the world’s worst attempt at an apology _

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:19 p.m._ **

_ Because you literally could have just said no instead of making me feel like an idiot _

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:23 p.m._ **

_ You know what, it’s fine. Just forget about it. _

**_You (Sara Lance)_ **

**_12:24 pm_ **

_ Please. _


	9. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still Secret Agent Woman  
> 5:43 p.m.  
> Come out? Please?
> 
> Read 5:43 p.m.
> 
> Still Secret Agent Woman  
> 5:47 p.m.  
> Please don’t make me bust in there. I’d really rather not make a scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. We suck, we know we suck, but this chapter was a bigger one and also nearing the end of what we have pre-written for this fic, so we had to do a lot of talking about this one, and where we want it to go from here, and how much longer this fic will be. It's also just been kind of a garbage dump of a month for us both, and I stg I want to throw my life in a trash can and set it on fire more days than not. But anyway, excuses. We suck, but we love you guys, and we're sorry for keeping everyone hanging on so bad here. We really have been working on this. 
> 
> Anyway, LESS THAN ONE WEEK UNTIL SEASON FOUR AHHHHHHH. Come join us on Tumblr to fangirl over Avalance at thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me) and iliveinfantasylife (Cate).

Sara hated the fact that she kept checking her phone. As if it wasn’t pathetic enough that she had spent her entire lunch break the day before hiding in the storage room, sitting on a giant bag of coffee beans and thinking about maybe texting someone who clearly didn’t even have an interest in her. The way she couldn’t help nudging the home button on her phone every couple of minutes, _just in case_ Ava had texted her while she wasn’t paying attention, made her want to smash a demitasse cup on the floor.

Which  was something she almost ended up doing anyway  she almost did anyway when Mick, their best barback when he showed up and wasn’t either hungover or actively intoxicated, poked his head into the back room where Sara was doing dishes and said, “Boss, you got a visitor.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mick,” Zari’s exasperated voice floated over from the front register. “This is why Sara thinks she’s actually everyone’s boss.“ She poked her head into the back room and added, “And Sara, your girlfriend is here to see you. She looks… you know what, never mind.” She stepped fully into the back room, hands on her hips, and fixed Sara with a long stare. She looked like she was about to add something else—probably something snarky and completely uncalled for, in Sara’s opinion—except right at that moment Sara’s phone, at long last, buzzed.

 

**_Still Secret Agent Woman_ **

**_5:43 p.m._ **

_ Come out? Please? _

 

**_Read 5:43 p.m._ **

 

**_Still Secret Agent Woman_ **

**_5:47 p.m._ **

_ Please don’t make me bust in there. I’d really rather not make a scene. _

 

Sara briefly considered staying put. Partly out of spite, and partly because she was honestly curious  as to  whether Ava would actually force her way back.  On the one hand, she had her doubts. On the other hand, she could one hundred percent picture Ava just striding into the back room, perfectly ironed pants, small scowl on her face, and staring Sara down right there on the coffee beans.

And while she was certainly angry enough to stay put, Sara had never been the type for mind games. When she was faced with a problem, her own peace of mind dictated that it be dealt with then and there.  Plus Zari was still standing in front of her, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised, giving her a “well,  _ boss?”  _ look , and Sara was absolutely not about to open herself up to any more mockery than she was already forced to endure.

So, she wiped her hands on her apron, pulled her hair out from its messy ponytail, and walked out front  a low, half-hearted “go get her, tiger,” issuing from Zari behind her. Sara rolled her eyes.

Sara wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see when she walked out. But Ava Sharpe, standing awkwardly to the right of the pastry case, with her hair falling in long, loose waves down around her shoulders, wearing a loose cream-colored sweater and--were those  _ leggings?-- _ was not it.

_ Fuck. _

She blinked at Ava for a moment, trying to work out what to say.

“Can’t tell if you dressed up or down for me,”  is what popped out, and she cursed  the  way her mouth motored on without her brain.

“Who says I dressed any sort of  _ way  _ for you?” The retort was out of Ava’s mouth almost immediately, and Sara watched as she blanched and ran a hand through her hair in frustration.  A blaze of annoyance and just a little envy (who the hell  _ actually  _ had hair like that?) sparked in Sara’s chest, but it died out just as quickly as she saw Ava sigh and shake her head slightly. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry ,” she said, letting out a long breath. “ I actually have the day off today. So I figured it’s maybe a good time to beg for forgiveness?”

Sara raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.  “In the middle of the cafe? Because while I’m all for you embarrassing yourself in front of my coworkers as penance, I don’t think  any of  these assholes —“ she paused to gesture vaguely at her coworkers, who weren’t even trying to pretend that they weren’t listening—“ would ever let me live that down, which is something I’m less into.” 

Sara said, gesturing behind her in the general direction of her coworkers

“No,” Ava said slowly, absently fiddling with the hem of her sweater. She took a deep, unsteady breath. “I was actually hoping you might be free soon so I can treat you to an early dinner as an apology for being- I mean, you know. As an apology.” 

What Sara wanted to say was,  _ do you seriously think I’m going to make it this easy for you?  _ What she actually said was, “Can’t.” Then, feeling weirdly guilty about the hurt expression that flickered across Ava’s face, she  sighed  and a dded, “ No, I actually can’t.  I’m working a double tonight. Nate’s got the flu.”

“Actually,” Zari said, appearing from out of nowhere behind Sara and smacking her hand down on Sara’s shoulder so hard there was an actual “thwacking” noise.

“What the fuck, Z?” Sara hissed, but Zari ignored her.

“ _ Sara _ ,” Zari continued, emphasizing Sara’s name like she was a small child, “just became free.” Zari plastered on a shit-eating grin. Sara wanted to smack it off her face. Zari shrugged. “I owe Nate a favor anyway, and this way not only can we call that even, but Sara will owe  _ me. _ ”

Sara frowned, at a bit of a loss for words. The last five minutes had spiraled into something completely unexpected, and wildly out of her control. She grasped for something, anything, to regain some control over the situation, and blurted “I can’t go on a date. I smell like coffee grounds and old milk.” Then she winced. Could she have picked a phrase  _ less _ attractive than a statement on how bad she smelled? She was doomed. She glanced over at Zari, who must have seen the desperation on her face, because Zari rolled her eyes and gave her a light push in the direction of the door.

_ “Then go home and shower first,” _ she said forcefully, still pushing Sara toward the door.

“We can stop by your place first, if you want to shower and change,” Ava offered , softly, shuffling slightly on her feet  . “Or, you know, I can meet you somewhere later, if you don’t want- I mean, if you’d rather not-”

“Oh, my god,” Zari snapped. “I’m taking the choice out of your hands. Go to Sara’s place so she can take a shower, then go out. The night is still young. Actually, it’s still in gestation, it’s the middle of the afternoon. And this was a really terrible metaphor. Just go have some fun, for fuck’s sake, so you can stop pining and being a pain in everyone’s ass.”

Apparently this was a thing that was happening, whether Sara liked it or not. Not that she didn’t like it , exactly.  She honestly wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. Other than confused. 

So she swallowed her rising anxiety, then turned and nodded to Ava, who smiled nervously and nodded back, a light pink tinge rising to the tips of her cheeks. Sara felt a jolt of affection shoot through her chest, and forced it back down. What the fuck? 

Ava turned and headed toward the door. Sara turned to follow, mouthing  _ I’m going to fucking kill you  _ at Zari on her way out.

Zari just waved.

 

.

 

When Sara pushed open the door to her apartment, she was relieved to see that it was, while cramped and undeniably cluttered, still less of a mess than it usually was.  She had hosted her sister, in from out of town, not two weeks ago, and hadn’t felt like hearing Laurel nitpick about dirty dishes in the sink or clothes on the floor. And while some of the aforementioned flaws had started to assert their presence again, Sara felt like it could have been a lot worse. Still, watching Ava, with her perfect hair and perfect makeup and perfect clothes —and on a day off, no less— look around her apartment, made her nervous. She felt more than a little like her life was being put under a very intense, possibly very judgmental, microscope.

“Sorry about the mess,” Sara said, casually reaching behind her to swipe an empty chip bag under the table. “I’d say it’s not always like this but honestly that would be a lie.”

Something about Ava’s presence in her home simultaneously put Sara on edge and made all the anger and frustration she had been feeling dissipate into the air between them. And while she actually did have no intention of letting Ava off the hook that easily, she really just could not muster up the energy to care right now.  So instead, she shoved a coffee-stained apron off of the couch cushion and plopped down lightly. She gestured at the seat across from her, and Ava sat, perching lightly on the edge of the other cushion.

“It’s fine, really,” Ava said, tucking a stray curl behind her hair as she took in her surroundings. “Mine is only clean because I’m never in it.”

“Why?” Sara asked. “Your job as a secret agent have you hopping all over the country?”

Ava laughed at that, low and throaty.  The sound of it sent a jolt through Sara’s stomach.  “I’m not a secret agent. Not even close. That is far, far cooler than what I do.”

“Then what  _ do  _ you do?” Sara asked. “Other than rock the hell out of pantsuits that shouldn’t look that good on anyone?”

“Oh,” Ava said, looking  simultaneously  very pleased and slightly embarrassed. “Uh, I work in business law. Mostly dealing with intellectual property rights. It’s pretty dry stuff, really.”

Sara wrinkled her nose, tilting her head slightly. “So like...protecting music artists from people using their work without permission?”

Ava chuckled, lightly, and shook her head a little, leaning in sideways against the back of the couch. “I  _ wish  _ it was something that noble. It’s more things like trade secrets, information people don’t want their competitors to know.”

“Like what the eleven herbs and spices in KFC chicken are?” Sara asked, grinning cheekily.

“Like that, but way less interesting.”

“Man, you were not kidding,” Sara laughed. “That is nowhere near as cool as being a secret agent.”

“No, definitely not,” Ava agreed. Then, with a touch of uncertainty, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ava,” Sara said, with all the gravity she could muster, “I am a barista. Well, a co-owner of a coffee co-op, technically. But basically a glorified barista. I don’t get to judge people’s career choices. At least your job doesn’t make you wake up at 4:30 in the morning.”

“Not usually, no,” Ava said. “That sounds terrible.”

“It is.” Sara wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’ve never been a morning person, but neither are all the people who buy coffee from us at six a.m., so what can you do, you know? I like my job, so I make it work.”  She paused. “Wait,” she added, slowly, replaying the last couple of sentences in her head. “Your job in business law has you  _ ever  _ waking up at 4:30 in the morning?”

Ava laughed again, and god, Sara could get used to that sound.

“Only once,” Ava confessed. “And it wasn’t even for something particularly interesting—it was just the only flight we could get to Central City on such short notice.”

Sara grinned, lightly. “That so does not count.”

The banter tapered off, and t hey stood for a minute in not-quite-uncomfortable silence, both unsure exactly what to say next, until Sara offered a small smile and said, “Yeah, uh. Okay. So I’m just gonna--” and gestured towards the bathroom. “Since that’s what we came here for and all.”

“Right, yes,” Ava said quickly. , pushing herself upright again, folding her hands into her lap.

Right before she slipped down the hallway, Sara turned and said, “Feel free to make yourself at home. I have Netflix, but I will not hear  _ one single  _ comment on my taste.”


	10. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Although,” Ava added, a wicked gleam appearing in her gaze, “I’m not usually the sort of girl to spend the night on the first date.”
> 
> Sara let out a loud laugh, tension releasing with the sound. “I am,” she said, shrugging a little. “But I don’t usually wake up with my clothes on afterward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we love you all. We do. So much, that we went on our day off and wrote a whole long (for us) chapter to make up for how much we fell behind last time. And we want you to know that we are both sorry and not sorry for this chapter, because Sara and Ava just have tempers like that, and we love them for it, and it's really fun to write. 
> 
> Come join us on Tumblr while we wait LESS THAN 24 HOURS FOR SEASON FOUR AHHHHHHHH. We are thebestdressedrebelinhistory (me) and iliveinfantasylife (Cate).
> 
> xoxo

The first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the blinds in Sara’s living room, and she groaned in protest, shifting slightly, attempting to find a more comfortable position for her neck. She furrowed her eyebrows, eyes still closed. Something felt a little off. Fighting through the early morning for in her mind, the night before came back to her, pieces fitting themselves slowly into place in her mind.

Slipping into the shower, trying to get her bearings, knowing Ava was sitting on the couch in her living room  _ right that moment. _

Leaving the shower, cursing herself for forgetting to bring her clothes into the bathroom with her, having to walk out in nothing but her bathrobe.

The yawn that escape her lips as she went to talk to Ava. The subsequent, ever-present raised eyebrow.

Her traitor mouth speaking for her. Pleading exhaustion from work. Asking about staying in, watching Netflix. As though they were far, far more intimate than they actually were. 

Ava’s response. “That depends. Will you be wearing clothes?”

Sara’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise, amusement rising in her chest. “Only if you want me to be.”

Ava’s pink-tinged cheeks as she choked out a “Yes, please.”

Sara saying, “I feel like I should be offended.” And letting Ava squirm for just a moment before laughing and turning toward her bedroom to change.

And only then did she start to come to the somewhat unsettling realization that what she’d assumed was her pillow must actually be Ava’s lap. Sara bolted upright. Ava stirred, eyelids fluttering open delicately. Sara glanced sidelong at Ava, taking in the now tousled waves that fell around Ava’s shoulders, the way she squinted against the early morning sunlight. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she straightened, mouth forming a silent “Oh,” as she took in her current surroundings.

Sara recognized the flash of panic that overtook Ava’s eyes as she glanced down at herself. Sara resisted the urge to laugh, swallowing down her own small sliver of panic.

“Relax,” she said, placing a hand lightly on Ava’s knee, before quickly withdrawing it and tucking it into her own lap. She continued, “I told you I’d keep my clothes on if you wanted me to.”

If it was possible for Ava’s eyes to widen further, they did. She looked like a spooked horse about to bolt. “I wasn’t--” Ava began, but Sara interrupted her.

“You totally were. But fear not, I am a woman of my word. More often than not, anyway.”

Ava  shrugged helplessly. “You fell asleep. I don’t know what else you would expect.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Sara said. She stared at Ava intently, searching blue eyes for any hint of an explanation or a justification, one which did not seem to be forthcoming . Finally, deciding to bite the bullet, Sara  blew out her breath before asking , “But, you stayed?”

Ava’s expression morphed into one of profound discomfort. She cleared her throat and looked  away from Sara’s gaze.  “Well,” she said, her words measured and cautious, “you fell asleep  _ on me _ . I uh, didn’t want to move you. For all I know, you have ninja reflexes and would have killed me in your sleep.”

Sara tilted her head, slightly, taking a moment to absorb the words that had just come out of Ava’s mouth. This woman was infuriatingly impossible to figure out. She ran over the words again.  Blinked. Frowned a little, then broke into a wide smile. “That was very nearly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. You kind of lost it at the end there, didn’t quite stick the landing, but that was a solid effort.”

 

Ava blanched, still looking at her lap. Her nose wrinkled slightly in a way that made Sara desperately want to reach out to her. “You just looked like you could use the rest.

Sara’s mouth twisted into a sheepish half-smile. “Yeah,” she said, and it was her turn to look away. “I, um. I think that double just really took it out of me. This whole week has kind of taken it out of me, to be honest. Feeling things is surprisingly draining.” Then she cringed, internally.  _ Feeling things, really?  _ She cut her eyes back up to Ava, fiddling with a loose string on her shirt.

Ava looked back, guiltily. “I--well. Would it be arrogant of me to assume that I’m a contributing factor there?”

Sara laughed, lightly, the words escaping her lips without thinking. “You, arrogant? Never.”

Ava’s eyes flashed for a moment, before settling into a sort of wary amusement.

A pang of guilt shot through Ava. “Would it be arrogant of me to assume that I’m a contributing factor there?”

“Ava,” Sara said, more seriously this time. She stretched her arms above her head and let herself flop backwards onto the other end of the couch, still staring at Ava intently. “You are  _ the  _ contributing factor. Like, number one on the list of Things Making Sara Flip Her Shit Like An Idiot And Making All Her Friends Hate Her For It.”

Ava blanched. “That seems… fair. I don’t really have a better way of saying I’m sorry, though?”

Sara shook her head, slightly. “I mean,” she said, “I really could have responded better to this whole thing, too, but…” she trailed off, biting her lip, irritation building up in her chest. This level of insecurity was  _ really not  _ sitting well with her. 

“ So maybe  You could tell me what the actual fuck you were doing with that hot and cold game.” She hadn’t meant for the words to come out as biting as they did, but they were out before it even occurred to Sara that this might be a good time to stop and  _ think  _ about what she said

“It  _ wasn’t  _ a game,” Ava said quickly, sharply. Sara raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable moment, Ava continued. “I wouldn’t… I mean, I don’t play games. Like that. I just… panicked? I guess?

“Do you want to maybe try again and see if you can come up with a  _ more  _ unsatisfying answer? Maybe one that answers  _ less  _ of the question I asked?” 

Sara knew she should stop, but she just couldn’t seem to help herself. She was frustrated, and anxious, and they were  _ in her house,  _ and she was a little bit like a cornered animal when she reached dangerously high levels of insecurity , which was increasingly often when Ava was around, and she wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t  _ fucking hate  _ that as much as she felt like she should .

 

Ava’s eyes flashed again, and she opened her mouth to speak,  probably to say something equally snippy, equally pointed, equally hurtful. But she snapped it shut instead, and Sara could almost feel the tension coming off her in waves as Ava ran her fingers through her hair just a little too roughly, wincing as she hit a snag, before letting out one deep, furious sigh and sitting back, putting as much distance between them as she could without actually leaving the couch. “I  _ did  _ answer your question,” she said at last, her voice tinged with frustration. “Not well, apparently, but I did.” 

Sara let out a harsh little laugh, pulling her knees up into her chest. “God, we’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“That would appear to be the case, yes, ” Ava said tiredly. 

Sara frowned , releasing a long breath . “So… do I get a better version?  Of your answer? ”

Ava closed her eyes, pressing two fingers to her temple before opening them again.  “I mean, ” she breathed, shoulders drooping just slightly. “Yes, if you want. It’s just a lot. Or it feels like a lot to me. I don’t know. It’s not great first date material.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Sara said,  a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips . “We might be more in the damage control zone now.”

Ava’s lips twisted into a small smile. “I think you’re probably right,” she said, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She bit her bottom lip, smoothed out her sweater, opened and closed her mouth, twice. Sara shifted, tucking her hands under her bent knees, trying really, really hard to  keep her patience, and her frustration, under control.

“So,” Ava began at last, quietly, looking back down at her lap. “So I just moved here. Literally just. I’ve been in town two and a half weeks. I uh, had to leave my last job. I mean, I didn’t have to. They didn’t fire me or anything. I just… couldn’t stay.”

Confusion and concern flooded Sara, but she was afraid to say anything that might keep Ava from talking, so she kept her mouth firmly shut.

“It was my boss,” she said, then stopped, as though that explained anything. She sighed, again, before continuing, her voice flat. “ I made a mistake. Made some offhand comment about the woman I was seeing. My boss was… religious, deeply religious, and I knew it, and I just kept my head down for the most part, left well enough alone, didn’t mention anything about my personal life. I wasn’t thinking, didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was far too late, and suddenly, everything changed. Well, sort of suddenly. There was no one specific event, per se. But everything at work got a lot harder. I started getting harsher and harsher criticism on my reviews. I got into trouble for things that, before, weren’t even rules. Then, finally, I got passed up for a promotion that, a couple of months prior, anyone would have agreed I was the obvious choice for.” She looked up at Sara, eyes blazing.  “And before you think it, that’s not just me being arrogant.”

Sara wanted to interject, to say that, at no point in time had it occurred to her that this might be an issue of Ava’s arrogance, or anything at all that was in any way just in her head. But she knew, could feel it in her bones, that this was not the time for her to speak. That this was a story Ava had shared with precious few people, if any at all, and that any interjection on Sara’s part might cause her to clam right back up, push this story down to a deeper, sadder part of herself than ever before, and let it fester there. So instead, Sara gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment, and waited. 

Ava shook her head back and forth very, very slightly, as though she didn’t entirely know she was doing it. “I just,” she breathed out, “I got more than enough of that when I was a teenager. From my family.  And my teachers. And the people I thought were my friends who definitely were not my friends in the same way after they found out.”

“Oh, Ava,” Sara breathed, words heavy with emotion. She wished she had something better to say, that she was the kind of person who could apply words like a salve, to soothe the pain of prior  scars. But she wasn’t, and she couldn’t, so instead she just said,  “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Ava swallowed thickly, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and Sara could see her fighting for composure. “Yeah. Me, too, I guess.” Then, she continued, her eyes watery but her words steady and confident. “So, anyway, I quit, and the job I’m at now just kind of… landed in my lap. And the timing was right, and I really just needed to get away, and this was supposed to be something that would be good for me, you know? And I honestly just… could not have been in a worse place when I met you. And I really wasn’t expecting anyone to be interested in me, much less be  _ persistently  _ interested in me.”

Shame and embarrassment burned in Sara’s chest. She looked down, slightly . “ I’m--” she swallowed, forcing a small smile that she knew didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m generally good for persistence,  yes .”

Ava’s answering laugh surprised her.  “I’ve noticed, ” she teased, softly. She reached out and pressed her fingers to the back of Sara’s hand, lightly, causing Sara’s skin to tingle where Ava touched her. Sara’s head popped back up, eyes meeting Ava’s, and she saw a softness there that she’d never seen before. Ava glanced down at their hands before continuing.

“I really wasn’t lying,” she added, quietly. “I know it’s not a very satisfactory answer, but I really did just panic. You came along, and it was completely unexpected, and suddenly I didn’t know what to do. I had this whole idea in my head about how this move was going to do, what it would accomplish for me as a brand new beginning, how great it would be for me to have some space to myself. Then, suddenly, that plan was thrown completely out the window.”

Sara studied Ava for a moment before replying. “Do you regret it?” she asked, dreading the answer just a little. She just really needed to know. “I mean,” she continued. “We can totally put this on the back-burner. Or no burner, at all. We can call it a day. If you need space, I mean. I’m not about to pursue something that you’re not into. That’s not my thing.” She was babbling. She knew she needed to stop, but couldn’t seem to stop her mouth from going on.

“Sara,” Ava interjected. She was shaking her head. “No,” she said, softly. Then, “No,” she said, more firmly. “I don’t regret it. Although,” she added, a wicked gleam appearing in her gaze, “I’m not usually the sort of girl to spend the night on the first date.”

Sara let out a loud laugh, tension releasing with the sound. “I am,” she said, shrugging a little. “But I don’t usually wake up with my clothes  _ on _ afterward.”

Ava gave her a wry look. “If I said ‘color me unsurprised,’ would that be  too mean?”

Sara grinned. “Mean, maybe, but not inaccurate. And I am nothing if not self-aware.”

Ava laughed again, wrinkling her nose, just a little, sending a little jolt of affection through Sara.

“So,” Ava said, sitting up again, pulling her hand back. Sara felt the loss of contact immediately, and chose not to dwell too much on what that meant. “Since our date last night was kind of a bust--”

“I don’t know,” Sara interjected. “I got you to stay over.”

Ava rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Since last night was kind of a bust,” she repeated,  more forcefully,  ignoring Sara, “How about I take you out on a different date, instead? I was thinking maybe  _ coffee. _ ”

Sara’s eyebrows shot up, taking in Ava’s mischievous little grin. She picked up a couch pillow from the floor and threw it at Ava, missing by a solid two feet. “Please,” she groaned. “ _ Anything  _ but that.” 


End file.
